


Never Hear The End Of This (And Don't Want To)

by subtropicalStenella



Series: Playing the Long Game [3]
Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dorks in Love, F/M, First Time, Interspecies Awkwardness, Is the best, Kanan has 0 filter, Kanan has hilaribad taste in t-shirts, Laughter During Sex, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Wet & Messy, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-18 20:21:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13689108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subtropicalStenella/pseuds/subtropicalStenella
Summary: Hey look it's that first time fic I've been working on for-fucking-ever





	1. Chapter 1

She can feel Kanan judging her from the kitchen doorway, and pointedly ignores him in favor of re-reviewing the information on their next mark--an orbital fueling station above Narq, one they would infiltrate on the guise of picking up  _ a  _ crate of powercells, and hopefully leave with closer to ten. It was handy having someone tall enough to impersonate a Stormtrooper around, she had to admit. Especially one who could wear the helmet.

 

He doesn't say anything at first, just leans down to crack the refrigerator open, rummaging inside. 

... That's a little harder to ignore. That is a lot of very tall, very surprisingly fit not-Jedi bending over right in her eyeline. Slightly more in her eyeline if she leans just a _bit_ more to the left. For a guy that had spent hells only knew how long living in the armpit of the galaxy on a diet of ration bars and hard liquor, he was… really well put together. The baggy sweaters were a filthy lie he apparently wasn't bothering with tonight. Today. To-eh-whatever-it’s-hyperspace-for-the-next-six-hours. No, he's wandering around her ship in those damned sleep pants that hang off his lean hips and a different horrible cut-off tee. (Not his worst, she stole that one out of his laundry in a preemptive strike. That one is a sunshine yellow that looks _horrible_ with his complexion, says 'Moustache Rides: 5€€’ and looks much better on her.) This one is a bright green and white advertisement for UNCLE JESSE'S HIGH-VISCOSITY VARMINT GREASE, featuring a particularly wall-eyed womp rat, three holes and several stains that could be red wine or Human blood. It's wretched, mystifying and very suspicious. 

 

He looks distressingly good in it.

 

Unfortunately her admiration of his backside is ruined by him standing up and-- _ drinking juice right out of the carton.  _ And  _ then _ he puts the empty carton back.  _ Jackass. _

 

“ _ Ahem. _ ”

 

He smiles guiltily, and reopens the refrigerator, retrieving the carton. “Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?” 

His eyes drift closed, and the empty carton floats gently from his hand towards the garbage chute.

 

“Aren't  _ you  _ supposed to be in hiding?” she drawls, watching it go, rather than staring at the wide strip of exposed abdominal muscle and the trail of dark hair extending to just above his navel, or the old blasterburn on his right hip.

She gets another wry smile, this one a bit distracted. “It's not like you don't already know.”

His brow furrows slightly, and his other hand comes up, causing the chute door to rattle. “And it… it feels good to use it, in a way.”

The chute rattles harder, starts to open. “Kind of like… stretching a sore muscle…”

The carton hits the floor and he sighs. “... That hasn't been used in a decade.”

“Not unless there was a cavern or chunk of starship about to fall on your head, huh?” 

 

He walks over and stuffs the carton down the chute, shaking his head. “Brute… well,  _ force _ is different, and even then that was all mostly reflex,” he explains, coming over to lean on his elbows across from her. “I'm rusty, and fiddly stuff like that or mental manipulation…”

He shrugs. “Never really been my strengths, not that I had much time to really determine what those were.”

“No?” It was a little unnerving, how willing he was to share his past with her. She's seen what he can do, in an emergency mostly, like the aforementioned disasters or the occasional Stormie mind in a pinch, but casual use like this is new. Acknowledgement of what he is  _ in general _ is new.

“Temple teaches the basics and control, Master helps you discover and develop your personal gifts. And. Well…”

 

And he'd been in his early teens when everything went to hell. It didn't take a genius to do the math. 

 

“So what has you awake?” he asks, visibly rallying to tease her. “Still don't trust me with the hyperdrive?”

“It's not that I don't trust you,” she explains, flushing slightly. She  _ did _ . Possibly too much. For all he knew, his secrets were  _ far  _ more dangerous than hers, but what little he knew about her, about the Ghost, was dangerous enough if he got caught. And even Jedi could break. “It's old habits. I never had a crew to take the helm, so I couldn't do long jumps like this. I'm used to short skips with breaks between. I know the Ghost can handle it, I know it's harder to be tracked on a long jump, and I  _ know _ it's safer this way but…”

 

“But the Ghost is your baby,” he finishes. Not how she would have worded it, but the sentiment is dead on. 

“And sleeping through hyperspace in general just feels weird. Part of me keeps screaming 'What if purrgils?!’” 

 

He snickers, and slaps the table decisively. “Well. I’ve got a trick we can try to help you get to sleep.”

Here it comes. “Kanan Jarrus if the next thing out of your mouth is that damn backwater drawl and some line about making sure I'm  _ real relaxed _ , I'm booting you out the airlock,” she growls, narrowing her eyes. 

 

“That is  _ not  _ what I was going to say!” he yelps indignantly.

 

She cocks an eyebrow and waits. He had been telling the truth when he told her that her reactivity, her receptiveness to his advances and the fact that he'd had his fingers up her slit in a  _ wildly _ successful testdrive wouldn't change anything between them. They hadn't had time or energy between jobs to take anything further but he still flirted with her, and over the last several cycles it had relaxed into just… part of how they interacted. It seemed mostly habit, part of his disguise. A  _ Jedi  _ wouldn't try to charm your pants off, after all. 

 

“It wasn't!”

Other eyebrow.

 

“Because if I let you, you'd keep me up  _ all night _ ?” She starts out sarcastic, but  _ might  _ deliberately let  _ her _ accent slip a little, Ryloth coming out smooth and sultry on the last words, just to see what would happen.

“Yes ma'am.”  _ There's  _ the drawl. 

 

She rolls her eyes, but doesn't actively shoot him down. Doesn't need to, because he huffs a quiet, self-depreciative laugh and resumes talking like a normal person. 

 

“What I was  _ going  _ to say was, 'Spar with me.’”

“Spar. With you.”

“I get a change from shadowboxing, Chopper gets to pilot for awhile, you get to kick the piss out of me until you're too tired to bother,” he reasons, grinning crookedly.  “Fun for everyone.”

“Pretty sure the only way that last one would happen is if you were holding back.” Maybe not, but it never,  _ ever  _ hurt to be underestimated.

He shakes his head, standing up. “Wouldn't dream of it. I've seen you fight.” 

 

And that's how she ends up following him down the cargo bay. It was the only area on board that had room for his frankly unreasonably acrobatic routines. Having cargo in there didn't particularly bother him. If the crates were sturdy and stable enough--he always checked, and asked if she minded--he worked around and over them, incorporating the rough-and-tumble barroom brawler’s “style” with something more fluid and more controlled that she definitely didn't catch herself watching from time to time. Precisely the way she  _ wasn't  _ watching his ass again. 

 

… honestly how the hell did those pants make his ass look  _ that  _ good? 

 

He vaults the railing while she slides down the ladder like a sane, sentient being and then stands hipcocked, watching him watch her. Her own sleep shorts and tank will serve well enough for sparring clothes, it has a sortof bra in it. Now what?

 

“Did you ever have formal training?” he asks, leaning back against the crate.

“What difference does it make?”

He shrugs. “You're trying to shut your brain off, right? Better to do drills and stuff. Something with rhythm, muscle memory, so you don't have to think.” 

 

Oh for pity's sake Syndulla, he knows your name, it's not like he couldn't figure out who your parents are with twelve minute on the holonet. Besides…

 

“Hmm… Well, between my father, Cham…” she starts, gesturing idly to one side and smiling as she watches him do the sociopolitical mental math.

“Cham Syndulla, the  _ Liberator of Ryloth? _ ” he asks, using her father's old nickname from the Clone Wars. “The revolutionary?” He sounds impressed, but not terribly surprised.

“... and my mother, Ayybyt te’Secura Syndulla…”

She gestures with the other hand and his jaw drops. “ _Your_ mother was Star Hammer Secura? Didn't she make Outer Rim Featherweight Grand Champion something like, three times? They replayed her matches all the time in, shit, half the bars I worked in.”

“Four. Would have taken home the title a fifth time too, if not for, well…” Everything. There had been the brief lull between the Clone Wars and the budding Rebellion, and her mother had started training again, had held a system-syndicated press release saying she was back in the game. Her people had been  _ thrilled  _ to have one of their  _ ordinary _ heroes back… And then the Empire happened. 

 

“I'm going to regret this, aren't I?” he says, wincing.

“Maybe!” she says, and tries to crack a smile with her knuckles. “But then again, Mother was always a little disappointed that I didn't take to fighting the way I did flying.”

“I’m going to regret this.”

 

He pushes off the crates and settles into a loose, easy stance she recognized from too many fights. Hands up and open near his chest, knees bent, weight on the balls of his bare feet. It looked harmless, almost as though he were putting his hands up in surrender, and was usually accompanied by some glib line about everyone getting along. In actuality it was one of the forms he'd been taught in early childhood, and enabled him to block or deflect just about anything. 

 

“So. Drills. Even though everything I was taught is probably  _ wildly _ different from your lessons,” she says skeptically, and sets up in her own, far more aggressive style, fists up.

Another shrug. “So you lead, I'll follow. We'll figure something out.” 

 

That said everything about their relationship, even though when they'd realized the need for code names of some kind, he'd named himself Spectre 1. He let her roll her eyes and call him their Fearless Leader, and she let him think she didn't know it was a way to protect her, redistributing their value so she was “just” the pilot to anyone who hadn't seen the way they actually worked.

She steps up, making up a combination as she goes: short, sharp jabs to his face and torso, two left, one right, left hand uppercut, stomping down onto his instep to pivot and drive her knee up into his side. Half speed, half strength, so he stops every blow, catching her fists and turning them aside, shifting back and sideways to avoid her knee.

A beat, a breath, and he turns it back on her. The style, the delivery is different, half his strikes openhanded, but the pattern is the same. Two left, one right, left hand uppercut, instep-to-pivot and a crushing body blow with his knee. Her plan, his execution. 

 

“Again?”

 

She nods, and goes at him again. Half speed, half strength. This time she pushes into his space, forcing him back. He returns it, stepping into her.

 

Again. Faster.

Again. Faster still.

Not full strength, not full speed, but enough to get her heart rate up. Again and again and again.

 

“Change it up?”

 

Another nod, another combination. A sideways kick that would snap his knee inwards if delivered properly, and he drops down obligingly to take  _ her _ knee to the face with her hands cupping his skull, the strike stopped just before the impact would make his beak of a nose worse, and followed by her elbow down between his shoulderblades. She does the same for him. The eighth time, she mistimes the grab and rakes her hands through his hair, pulling half of it out of the short tail, and he yelps indignantly, rolling away before she can finish the set. 

 

“It's dead cells,” she chides, and tries not to think about how  _ soft _ the dead, entirely decorative strands had been, sliding through her fingers like good silk thread, while she waits for him to stand up.

“It's still attached to my head!” he grumbles, blowing the loose bits out of his face as he stands and strips the tie out of the rest of it. She  _ definitely _ doesn't think about the soft, needy little sound he'd made deep in his throat the last time she had accidentally pulled his hair. Instead she watches him comb it back into its tail with his fingers, the tie in his teeth, rather than observe just how much higher his half shirt rises when he puts his arms up to do so.

 

“Another?” she asks, distracting herself. She's  _ seen  _ him shirtless. Hell, she's seen him fuck-drunk and languid, licking his cum  _ and  _ her slick off his fingers. So why was his stomach so fascinating? Why did she want to drag her fingers through the dark trail of hair that disappeared into the waistband of his pants? She already knew how soft it was, from patching him up after scrapes.

… and from trying to get into his pants, wanting to get further acquainted with the very nice bit of him he had so obligingly let her rub herself off on.

 

Twice.

 

“Seems like you have something else on your mind, after all,” he drawls with a slow, sly smile as he lets his hands fall and--and  _ hooks his thumbs into his waistband,  _ showing off even more and yet not enough.

“Then quit reading it!” she snaps, genuinely annoyed. It was  _ rude  _ and  _ invasive  _ and she  _ lunges  _ at him, low and fast, driving her shoulder and then her elbow into his stomach, under his center of gravity with her leg between his to trip him up, throw him over her hip. He doesn't topple like he's supposed to, instead he overcorrects, grabs onto her upper thighs as he goes, turning his fall into a roll.

That takes  _ her  _ off her feet as he hits the cargo bay floor on the back of his shoulders, continues on the momentum to sit up and  _ throw  _ her across the room. 

 

_ Much  _ farther than he should be able too.

Oh. Right. She's sparring with a bloody  _ Jedi _ . 

 

That's why she doesn't smack into the wall, instead stopping just short enough that only the tips of her lekku  _ pap  _ softly against it from inertia as she fucking well  _ hovers _ , floating in the air. That's… wow. Admittedly that's very impressive but she's not going to  _ tell  _ him that, especially not when he's pulling her closer with a slightly shaky gesture, his eyes tightly closed in concentration. 

 

And apparently she'd hung on to his shirt as she went. Hello there. No, she's still mad at him. Focus.

 

“I'm  _ not _ , and I won't,” he tells her, as she drifts to a halt in front of him. His eyes stay closed, but he smiles. “I don't have to.”

His other hand comes up, fingers flickering once, and  _ something _ flips the end of tchin. 

 

Wh…? Oh. 

 

You’d think  _ being  _ green would make it less obvious when her lekku flushed with embarrassment, intoxication or, currently, sexual interest. But  _ no _ , there she goes, lighting up about halfway up the length, her pale markings standing out brightly.

And now he's still smirking, the smug bastard.

Alright, not mad at him for that. He's not… he doesn't need to, apparently, and she believes him when he says he won't. Still…

 

Well isn't that interesting, being levitated by a Jedi isn't  _ entirely  _ unlike being in zero-G, she can still kick things.

Like his legs, out from under him.

 

Of course, that means he drops her, but she's prepared for it and lands lightly on her feet, standing over him. “Don't get ahead of yourself.”

He stays flat on his back, looking up at her. “Alright,” he concedes, agreeable as ever--at least in things like this. “Can I have my shirt back?”

 

Pff.  _ No.  _

 

She dangles it above him by the stretched out collar. “Come and get it.”

He gives her a look that very plainly asks,  _ Really? _ without any lekku at all, and she waves the ratty shirt like a taunting little flag.

At least until he reaches up. She flips it up out of his reach but he ignores it, instead sharply whacking the backs of her knees with his knuckles, right over the tendons so she collapses onto his chest in a heap, kneeling on his shoulders. Of course all the shirt falls right onto his face, and he, naturally, bites down to catch before reaching up and over her leg to grab it and tauntingly wave it himself.

 

“Anything else you'd like me to do?” he asks, and smooths his bare hands up and down the tops of her thighs, looking up from between them and clearly quite content to be there.

“You really want to do this, right here and now?” she asks skeptically, leaning down on her hands, and he shrugs.

“Why not?” 

“Because it's the  _ cargo bay _ .”

“It's your cargo bay, isn't it?” he asks, drumming his fingers on her legs. “At least, on datawork. Not really yours until you've ah… staked a claim in every room.”

She sits up with an indignant flip of her lekku. “Who's to say I haven't?”

He tilts his head, squints suspiciously at her. “Mmn. Nah, you haven't. You're a good girl.”

“And  _ you  _ are trying to goad me into being bad.”

“Is it working?”

 

That smirk is  _ lethal _ and entirely unfair. 

 

“Not on the dirty floor, it's not.”

“I'm open to suggestions.”

Well, he's not the only one with interesting species traits. All that hyperflexible cartilage in her spine and the strength of her legs means she can stand up and over him without her hands leaving the floor on either side of his head. It's sinuous and show-offish and the sort of thing certain types of people pay a  _ lot  _ of credits to see and she would never admit to knowing how to do.

He tracks the movement all the way up her legs, his gaze moving up as his hands slide down. 

 

“Get up.” 

 

He does as he's told, pushing up on his elbows, and catches her lips in a kiss as he does, as he keeps kissing her, as he leans up and forward and scrambles up to his feet. His hands come up to frame her face, hold her close, and hers go around his hips, sliding down to his ass and grabbing hold because she didn't  _ get _ to last time they played at this.

That gets her a surprised little grunt and a grin against her mouth, his hands wrapping around the back of her neck as he nips at her top lip. He still kisses  _ right _ , it's still an offer, not a demand, but he's Human-warm and tastes like storms and in the offer is a  _ plea _ , a hunger, please,  _ please  _ take this, let me have this. 

 

She's not sure if he's walked her back up against the wall or if she pulled him there but either way he's plastered all over the front of her, dragging his kisses down her neck and his hands with them, down her shoulders. His touch is light, but he catches the thin straps of her tank over the backs of his hands, smoothing them off her shoulders as he reaches the hollow of her collarbones. He leaves several warm kisses there, like he couldn't before. His hands drift down to cup her breasts, to roll his thumbs over her nipples through the soft fabric and to kiss her lips again when she gasps softly. He’s  _ so _ warm, and she wants more of it, so she reaches between them to haul the front of her shirt down around her waist, pulling her arms up through the straps and around his neck. He huffs a short, soft breath against her mouth and hooks one hand under her thigh, pulling it up over his hip so all the hard hot length of him rubs against her sex through their clothes.

 

“No,  _ hell  _ no,” she growls and he freezes. Not her intent but a good response, and it gives her space to pull herself free of his hand and hook her thumbs into the waistband of her shorts to shimmy them down her legs. Oh damn, look at that, she wasn't wearing anything under them. “We have  _ both  _ had enough of that. C’mere--”

_ “Shit _ yes,” he rasps, and drops his shoulders enough to drag more rough, sucking kisses down the side of her neck, under the curve of her lek.

 

But when she goes for the waistband of  _ his  _ pants, he shifts his hips away, reaches down to catch the underside of her thigh again. He doesn't pull it over his hip this time, instead hooking his forearm under her knee entirely, and then the other, hoisting her up into the air with a short grunt of effort from him and a surprised  _ squeak _ from her.

“K-Kanan!”

He's not having any difficulty holding her up, her legs slung over his arms, her back against the cool durasteel wall of the Ghost's cargo bay and her bare ass against his chest.

“What? You're not on the dirty floor, now.” 

“I--what?”

Another grin, another flex of his beautifully strong back and arms, and he's lifted her higher--enough to get her legs over his shoulders. 

“How about it?”

“You are  _ really  _ tall--” she splutters nonsensically, her hands splayed on the wall as he laughs, tips his head sideways to rest on her thigh. 

“So you’d rather I put you down?” he asks, and he's not entirely teasing. He'd stop this entirely if she asked.

He does, however, further plead his case with more kisses, on the insides of her thighs with his hands braced securely under her ass and it is very,  _ very  _ nice.

“I--No, but--”

“Then hold on,” he says, and gives her another kiss, sucking a mark into the crease of her thigh. 

“To  _ what?” _ she yelps as he licks the mark and she tries not to squirm. 

 

A toss of his head flips his ponytail onto the side of his neck.

 

“You're joking,” she tells him flatly, but grabs onto it anyway. “Thought you didn't like having your hair pulled.” 

“Not like  _ that,  _ no,” he says, and tilts his head back into her hands. “Close to the scalp, dig your fingers in.” 

 

She laces the fingers of both her hands into his hair, near the tie, and uses it to pull him between her legs. He breathes out  _ hard  _ through his nose, his mouth otherwise occupied, and his eyes flutter closed as his mouth opens. Her damn  _ toes  _ curl at that, not just her lekku, as he licks a broad stripe over her cunt, along her slit and over her first jil.  _ Ohh _ , nice thing about that testdrive, he knows pretty damned well what she likes. A bit different with his mouth rather than his hands, his tongue giving her that steady, shifting pressure and it's  _ nice.  _ She leans back, bracing her shoulders against the wall, her lekku falling forward and curling slowly over her chest.

He has a good hold on her, enough that she's able to relax a bit, get comfortable despite being two meters in the air, which is nice because they'll be here for a while. She's always been a back-jil kind of girl, and while she  _ can _ get off with just the one getting attention, it takes  _ for e v e r. _

 

Still fun, still very,  _ very  _ nice. He knows how to do  _ this  _ too, rolling his tongue over and around her jil as it slowly swells, his mouth closing over it to suck softly, and he takes instruction well. Though he did sort of set the rules, didn't he? Digging her fingers into his scalp means  _ yes good more of that please _ , and the hitch in her breath means  _ right there like that _ , and her soft little pleading sounds that are steadily getting louder mean  _ harder more yes fuck more _ and okay basically everything she's doing means  _ yes _ and  _ more _ because he's yet to do something she  _ doesn't _ like--

 

(The goatee will take a little getting used to, but that's just  _ different _ , not specifically  _ bad _ .)

 

\--so she's all but purring and kneading his head like a spoiled lothcat and it's really too bad he can't get to both jil from this positiooookay maybe he  _ can  _ Goddess fucking  _ bless  _ did he unhinge his  _ jaw? _

And oh  _ hells  _ she fucking  _ squeaked _ again and now he's snort-laughing at her and that is definitely the  _ weirdest  _ thing she's ever felt down there and she hauls him in by his ponytail because he had to back off to breathe and  _ less lip, more head, Jedi _ and bright bloody blessed Goddess the absolute  _ best  _ thing about this biochemistry blergshit is that he's having so much blasted  _ fun  _ down there that she can feel it like someone dumped a bucket of glitterstim and champagne over her head, fizzing up from her pulsing cilia and tight jil all the way up to her lekku and back down to the tips as they curl  _ right _ up and out into tight emerald-blushing loops at the ends and she digs her heels into his shoulders hard enough that he actually sways a little, has to take half a step to steady himself and it's so  _ fucking  _ good even with nothing at all inside her, her jil pressed against nothing but themselves because he knows better than to keep licking into her when she goes off.

Would have bloody well served him right to get his tongue caught, wipe that smug grin off his stupid pretty face.  _ Jerk. _ Unfortunately she's entirely composed of noodles at the moment and therefore incapable of being truly annoyed. 

 

“Y’alright up there?”

“Oh  _ fuck  _ you,” she huffs, and sounds  _ entirely _ too breathlessly fond, her lekku still loosely curled. She will categorically refuse to admit that he did good when he's smirking like that. He  _ obviously _ already knows.

He laughs and kisses the inside of her thigh, leaving a sticky smear. “Definitely an option, but right now--”

 

He shrugs his shoulders hard, knocking her legs off onto his elbows, letting her drop down his chest until she's hanging low in his arms, against his stomach with her knees at her shoulders. That is a  _ lot  _ of dick pressed between them all along her slit and still-hot jil and it's probably a good thing he doesn't read her mind because her mind is mostly going  _ eeeeeeeeee! _

 

“Think I'd rather fuck you,” he purrs against her mouth. He tastes like her, now, when he kisses her, and he has excellent ideas, she's definitely  _ wet  _ enough to take a Human now, once she settles a bit. First things first though, how did he put it? 

“Do I get to see what  _ I’m  _ working with, first?” she asks, and runs her hands down his chest and stomach. She had  _ hoped  _ to get a peek at least, maybe the very tip peeping out over the waistband of his pants but nope, the drawstring is holding. Not sure if the moisture darkening the fabric is from her or him or both. Probably mostly her, Humans didn't self-lubricate much. 

“Anything you want,” he murmurs, and carefully sets her down on her feet. More kisses as he stands back up, his hands sliding up her thighs to her hips, and then to his own. His long, clever fingers frame the… well… part of him she's most interested in at the moment. His forehead knocks against hers, stays there as he watches her watch him, his hands smoothing over his length, pulling himself aside under the soft fabric of his pants, along his hip.

He bites his lip on another sly, cocky smile. 

 

Yes, yes. Very impressive.  _ Showoff. _

She grabs both his wrists, pulls his hands out to his sides, and steps into him, turning them abruptly so his shoulders smack into the wall. 

 

“What if I want you to stop teasing me with that, and let me play?” she says, and presses herself against his chest, all that soft,  _ soft  _ mammal skin over lean muscle warm against her.

His hands come up slowly, away from her. Palms out, level with his head and relaxed. Easy surrender. “I can behave,” he assures her, even tips his head back as he does, showing his throat. 

 

She doesn't even have to say anything to convey her doubt, just raise an eyebrow and flick the tip of a lek. 

 

He glances around and takes half a step sideways to until he can reach up and grab a bit of exposed piping, stretching all the long lovely length of his body out on display. “Try me.”

She smiles, reaches up with him, and runs her hands all down his body. She can only reach to halfway up his forearms, but it's still a long, delicious way down to his hips. Especially when she gets to his ribs, crooks her fingers and  _ rakes _ her nails the rest of the way down and he gives her a beautifully ragged gasp. 

 

“Oh?” she asks, toying with the waistband of his pants, following it around the front of his hips. The very tips of her fingers brush against the very tip of him, the skin incredibly soft, and he swallows hard, licks the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah,” he rasps, watching her through hooded eyes as she continues toying with him, the lightest of teasing touches that has his cock twitching into her hands, straining against the cloth, but no other part of him moves. “Nothing permanent, but yeah, sometimes.” 

“I'll keep that in mind,” she purrs, and kisses his mouth, pressing herself all along the front of him. The sweet-salt taste of her lingers on his lips, on his chin--caught in his beard--and, Goddess, it has even dripped down his neck. She continues down, following the line of his collarbones, down the center of his chest, and he stays still, lets her play.

...except a brief moment, when her mouth is about halfway down his torso and thus his cock is pressed sweetly between her breasts. He rolls his hips at that, rutting against her softness with his head thrown back.  _ Goddess _ , he is so lovely. Enough playing.

 

She leaves one last, sucking kiss on the knife-edge of his hipbone, just below the flat, shiny blaster scar and grabs two handfuls of his pants over his thighs, grinning up at him. He looks down at the sudden tension, exactly as she wants, swallows roughly when she leaves an open-mouthed kiss on the dark-wet fabric over the head of his cock.

“Wait, you--I’m--”

“Big, I know,” she finishes, and yanks his pants down.

 

...and he smacks her right in the nose. 

 

“--not wearing anything either and  _ so fucking sorry,”  _ he babbles, head thrown back again, probably to avoid looking at her.

Right, they're… springy. She forgot about that. She sighs. “No, it's fine. You did try to warn me.”

The mental  _ eeeeeeeeee _ has only gotten louder, anyway. 

 

“Y’know, I've always wondered, when they say  _ navel tapper _ ,” she muses, and runs the tip of her finger along the underside of him, watches him twitch again, and keeps her fingertip on the sensitive spot  _ just  _ under the head, with the excess skin pulled back. “Do they mean yours?”

 

A bit of pressure pushes him back against his stomach, and sure enough…  _ taptap.  _

 

“I-I think so, yeah?” he answers hesitantly, staring at her with, bright Goddess with incredulous  _ awe _ .

Back down, twirling her finger around the base. “You sure? Because I'm pretty sure you're going to hit mine.” 

He bursts out laughing, “ _ Fucking hells,  _ you're incredible.”

“Oh?” 

“ _ Shit _ yes,” he laughs, letting his head rest on his upper arm. “You’re fucking--you, you’re cracking  _ jokes  _ about my dick after I smack you in the face with it, and, and  _ compliments  _ to say I'm too much--”

“Are you? Has anyone had a problem before?”

Aw, he actually stops to think. 

“No? Mostly no.”

“Then I'm taking you to the races, sweetheart.” 

 

More laughter, still incredulous, like he can't believe his luck, believe this is his life. Like it can't get any better.

He probably shouldn't wager on that, and she's going to prove it to him, by kissing the naked head of his cock and slowly taking him into her mouth.

 

All of him.

 

All 

The 

Way

Down.

 

The back of his head smacks against the wall, but not a sound out of him beyond another hard, shuddering inhale through his nose. Well  _ that _ won't do, he's not even watching the show. Normally she likes to save this trick for later in things, if there is a later, but… Nah. Pay attention,  _ Jedi _ .

It's a bit difficult, to get any of her tongue out past his thickness, but he'll feel the flex of it all down his length into her throat when she  _ licks _ him, once, twice and--

 

_ “--hhhhoooolyfuckingmarryme!” _ as his knees give out entirely and he's hanging by his grip on the piping.

 

_ Now _ she chokes, because it is, in fact, impossible to laugh with any amount of cock in one's mouth.

He immediately drops to his knees next to her as she works her way through a coughing fit into a giggling one. 

 

“Okay, laughing is good, laughing is better than choking, I'm not into choking,” he says, a hand on her back, rubbing slowly.

“Good t’know,” she coughs, and he laughs with her.

“This doesn't seem to be working,” he adds ruefully.

_ “That _ is quitter talk,” she tells him, pokes him in the chest as she stands up. “And after you've said  _ such  _ nice things.”

“For the record, that last one wasn't supposed to be aloud,” he says, relaxing back, letting his legs sprawl out in front of him as he  _ blushes _ and drags his hand through his disheveled hair. “Or… y’know. Serious.”

“Sure it wasn't,” she drawls, and saunters over to the far wall, where his huge, ridiculous coat is hanging near the cargo bay door after their last job. She doesn't need to be a mind reader to know what he's thinking when she turns back around, holding up the thick letheris with its worn but still plush fur lining. 

 

 _And she wants to have sex on my coat_ _therefore she absolutely hung at least three planets’ moons._

 

His gaze is fixed on the sway of her hips as she walks back with his coat around her shoulders, and he scrambles to his feet when she slings it over a shipping crate of suitable height belonging to someone she doesn't particularly like.

He also goes down easily onto his back onto said crate with only a cursory push in the right direction, his hands sliding up her hips as she climbs up onto crate and coat with him, straddling his thighs. 

 

“Hm, look at that,” she murmurs, scooting up until his cock stands up between her thighs and, sure enough, hits her stomach. 

 

He chuckles quietly, his hands resting lightly on the tops of her thighs. “Starting to think that might be a  _ thing _ for you.”

“Might be, if you know how to use it.”

That cocky--hee--smirk is back, and he shrugs. “Like I said. Try me.” 

 

A roll of her hips presses him between his stomach and her still-wet sex, slicking him down as she slides back and forth, teasing him, teasing  _ herself _ with the angle of her hips that lets  _ just  _ the head of his cock push into her slit, gives him a hint of her internal cilia stroking him.

Over and over, until finally his hands on her thighs push her slowly, inexorably down onto his cock, on a long, drawn-out moan he mirrors with another ragged breath, his eyes fluttering closed and his chin tipping back. He's  _ so  _ quiet, but it's not that he isn't reacting, she can see that now.

Every roll of her hips draws something out of him, his hands tightening briefly on her thighs, his stomach flexing, his chest heaving under her hands braced on it. Oh, this is  _ definitely _ going to become a  _ thing.  _ She's able to take him, just barely.

Deep and  _ thick _ , Goddess, she can feel the stretch of him pressing against both her jil all the way up and down without any direct contact on them at all. Up and down, up and down, over and over again, and then  _ down _ , to stay, to lean forward and  _ grind  _ her first jil on the base of his cock, his groin, and the soft curls there, all of it slick-soft from her and  _ there, _ that's the spot, that's the rhythm she needs. 

 

Better when his hands curve around her hips, fingers sinking into the curve of her ass to help, to keep her moving and take the strain off her legs.

Better still when he shifts, lifts her up and braces his feet on the crate under them to  _ snap  _ his hips up into hers. She falls forward, crying out, onto her elbows around his head.

 

Good fucking  _ goddamn _ does he ever know how to use it. 

 

She all but collapses onto his chest, burying her face in the hollow of his throat, her arms around him as his come up around her, one hand on the back of her neck, the other skating down her tailbone until he can reach her second jil with his jaw pressed against the side of her head and her lekku curling around them. She knows, she  _ knows  _ it's her getting tighter, her jil thickening and swelling under the pressure of his fingers and his cock and  _ all  _ of him and the taste of his excitement on his skin, but it feels like there's more of  _ him _ driving into her.

Feels like every inch of her skin pressed against his is lighting up. Not champagne this time, it's more. It's the storm in him building up, a dam about to break, a flood rising, and he's buried his face in the curve of her neck, under her lek, his hand on her hip now to push-pull her back and forth. It's too much,  _ he's  _ too much, her body trying to hold him like a twi’lek and unable to keep up, because everything she's picking up off  _ him  _ is screaming  _ more more more  _ and it's too  _ fucking _ much, too  _ good _ . She pushes back up on her hands, off his chest to minimize the connection--

 

\--and right back onto his fingers so she chokes on a sharp, broken wail and doesn’t peak so much as _shatter_ , drowning in the flood.

 

He’s clinging to the edge of the crate above his head with both hands, so hard his knuckles have gone white when she can eventually see through the stars in her eyes. He's  _ shaking _ , tense as drawn wire under her and forcing himself to breathe slowly, steadily.

Keeping himself still for her because  _ this  _ is probably what he meant by  _ “mostly”  _ no.

 

“You good?” he asks, and she can hear the plea in his voice. 

 

She's probably  _ not _ , but  _ oh _ …

She leans forward again, her lekku still curled when they fall over her shoulders.

Even that small motion of her hips has him sucking in a hard, harsh breath through his teeth, the metal crate creaking under his hands.

 

“Say 'please.’”

“Fucking  _ please, fuck--” _

Absolutely shameless, and she might love it.

 

Might love the idea of a  _ Jedi  _ wrapped around her fingers, begging her for… well, anything, but especially this.

She answers him with a roll of her hips and he arches up off the crate, hands leaving the edge to seize handfuls of his coat and let her ride him.

No, she's not, she's not ready for this yet, if she weren't absolutely blitzed on pheromones and post-orgasm it would almost  _ hurt  _ to feel him moving inside her again with everything so sensitive and her jil still so swollen that more than a slow shifting grind is all but impossible but it seems he was riding a razor’s edge, a saberpoint, waiting for her, and comes with her name rough on his lips in just moments. 

  
  


Having her flopped over his chest again probably isn't making it any easier for him to catch his breath, but the nice thing about Human  _ male  _ biochemistry is that their brains dump an absolutely absurd amount of relaxant into their systems  _ immediately _ after orgasm. Apparently most Human females considered it a flaw, how relaxed and often  _ sleepy _ males got once they got off.

But when you've been riding high on secondhand adrenaline, it's kind of nice to have that cut down without having to take a shower, and just flop comfortably on warm fuzzy Human.

Oh bloody fucking hells does she need a shower, they're so sticky, his coat is probably ruined but what are legs, she has no legs.

Oh  _ fuck  _ there's a  _ ladder  _ to climb to get to the refresher.

 

“This was a mistake,” she whines, and immediately regrets her phrasing as he goes tense and  _ very  _ still underneath her. “No, not you. You're good. Very good.”

 

She pats his chest reassuringly. Very good. Very soft, except where he's not. 

 

_ “Here _ was a mistake.”

He sighs gustily enough that he almost makes her roll off his chest.

_ “Shit,  _ woman don't scare me like that,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, shifts a bit to shove her face farther into the curve of his neck and shoulder. He smells like sex and her soap. “Ladders are bad.”

“Because you're high enough to be in orbit?” 

“Yep. Left my legs planetside. Also sticky.”

“Yeah, that happens,” he answers lazily, not sounding entirely sober himself. “I'll handle it.”

“No throwing.” 

Because he could do that, just,  _ whoop,  _ up she goes.

“I'm not going to  _ throw _ you, I'm going to  _ carry you,” _ he laughs, and sits up on his elbows while she whines because moving is bad, she hasn't been this relaxed in, fuck,  _ way  _ too long. Also it's absolutely  _ hilarious  _ to go completely boneless ragdoll on him as he tries to untangle and extricate himself.

Goddess even with her cilia working overtime to draw everything into her, she's all over his lap in thin, watery green that is… oh  _ hells... _

 

...in the shadows between their bodies, very faintly glowing. 

 

And he's noticed, pausing to swirl a fingertip through a smear on her thigh with a knowing smirk she knows  _ exactly _ how to squash.

 

“You are going to keep your I-Told-You-So’s to yourself, because I didn't have your dick in my mouth for even a  _ minute _ before you  _ proposed.” _

He laughs, visibly blushing even through his sex-flush.

“I’m never going to hear the end of that, am I?” he asks, and something flickers briefly in the depths of his clear, beautiful eyes. Something fond and terrifying and  _ terrified _ , before he looks away and slowly, carefully shifts her off of him.

 

That is less fun, him pulling out of her, but he bundles her up in his coat and all the soft (sweat- and sex-damp but still nice) fur makes up for it while he goes to find his pants to clean himself off with before dragging them on.

She squints at him as he approaches. “How  _ exactly _ are you planning on carrying me up the ladder?”

“Not the ladder,” he answers, and scoops her easily up in his arms again, an arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders. “Just up.”

 

He's going to do that thing with the jumping farther and higher than any Human has a right to, while carrying her.

And she's going to let him do it, because she is very,  _ very _ high right now and she might actually trust him that much and honestly it looks like  _ so much fun _ .

 

It is, and she squeals the whole (short) way, and laughs at him when he almost fumbles the landing, staggering half a step and blinking slowly like he's dizzy, only to be bumped from behind and steadied by… Chopper. Oh no.

 

“Please tell me he wasn't watching,” Kanan begs, wincing.

“Aw, what's the matter? Is it cam-shy?”

“I'll have you know, it is  _ extremely _ photogenic but I draw a line at mechanical voyeurism.”

 

Oh boy, there's the taser, except-- _ ha!  _ Chopper can't zap Kanan without also zapping her.

He settles for shoving at the back of Kanan's legs and loudly haranguing both of them as Kanan carries her towards the cabins.

 

“He says he wasn't watching, he has no interest in organics bashing their squishy, incomprehensible dataports together,” she reports. “It's wet and unsanitary and you're going to rust.”

_ “Dataports?” _

“It doesn't translate well.”

“I have  _ got  _ to learn binary.” 

“You do, he's bitching about having to explain to my father that my half-bald-Wookiee meatbag boyfriend killed me with sex.”

“Boyfriend, huh?” Kanan asks and shifts her around so she can trigger the keypad on her door, because of  _ course  _ that's the part he picks up on. 

 

More warbling from Chopper.

 

She translates to avoid the commentary. “He wishes to recant his previous assessment. You're apparently nine-tenths-bald,  _ and  _ mangy.”

_ Angry  _ warbling when Kanan carries her into her cabin, and she snaps. “He’s fucking well allowed in here if I say so!”

A very emphatic  _ wub-WAH! _ that doesn't even need translation. She remotely shuts the door in his faceplate and flops backwards onto her bed, still tangled in sex-coat, her legs over the side. 

 

“Well, I  _ was  _ going to clean off in the refresher but I for one don't feel like listening to Chopper complaining outside the door the whole time,” she grumbles.

“Bit of a buzzkill,” Kanan agrees, and… kneels down next to the bed, between her legs. That… is he?

“You don't have to do that,” she tells him softly, sitting up on her elbows as he pulls the long hems of his coat back from her legs, kissing the inside of her thigh and licking away a smear of sex-fluids there. 

 

_ That's  _ a twi’lek thing, making the aftermath part of the sex. Mostly it was about ensuring that your partner got off at least once, if you--like many male twi'lek--couldn’t do so in the actual act of coitus, that doubled as a courtesy thing, cleaning up your mess.

He’d  _ absolutely  _ delivered on the orgasm part, and Humans didn't  _ do  _ this, so…?

 

“I know, but I kinda like it,” he replies, just as quiet as he works his way upwards and inwards, his lips and tongue terribly soft on her skin. “And you still need to wind down some, don't you?” 

 

She threads her fingers into his hair again, and shifts back a bit to let him up on the bed with her.

 

It's different this time. Slow and easy, without the teasing edge of his need to show off, and he's obviously able to use his hands, now. Just the one, after he bundles his coat up under the small of her back to raise her hips, just one of his fingers working slowly inside her, enough for her jil to squeeze softly without the overwhelming pressure of… well, all of him, and his free hand open on her stomach, half soothing, half possessive.

He meant it, wanting to help her wind down. His lazy contentment rolls through her body from her core, and she doesn't dig her heels into his spine this time so much as rub slowly, and his mouth on her jil, his hands caressing her inside and out, lets the pleasure flow through her one last time, lets her melt under his touch. 

 

Really melt, almost. Everything is warm and soft, especially him, with his head resting on her stomach, and she dozes off that way, with her hands in his hair.


	2. Epilogue

He's gone when she wakes up, which isn't terribly surprising. She vaguely recalls him attempting to leave earlier, and subsequently wrangling him into the bed because the warm needs to stay and her bed is bigger than his bunk anyway, he'll actually be able to stretch out. 

Mostly because warm, though. 

What  _ is  _ surprising is that he comes back, and he brought caf. 

She sits up, grabbing at it.  _ “Ka, ka’te sovan jasshi’rr tun, keella.” _

 

His attention, which had been firmly fixed on her bare breasts along with his gaze, immediately jumps to her face, wide-eyed and terrified.

“My Ryl’s pretty rusty, please tell me  _ you _ didn't just propose because I brought you morning-after caf and some naproxen.”

He brought painkillers too?! She's not actually that sore, she just… overestimated herself enough that it's appreciated. “Accepted yours, actually.  _ Gimme.”  _

He hands it over, clearly squirming internally, and she lets him wrestle with his paranoia a bit just to watch his expressive face run through the entire spectrum of sentient emotion a few times in a matter of seconds while she drinks her caf.

_ And  _ he added enough sugar. Hell maybe she  _ should  _ keep him.

Probably should have mercy on him though.

 

“Good thing none of it counts, since twi’leki marriage rituals are insanely specific, complicated and _public_ ,” she tells him, grinning cheekily over her cup, lekku tips up. “Your species is the one that winds up spiritually and emotionally bound together on  _ accident _ while drunk, or just because you've voluntarily cohabitated and fucked one another for a set amount of years.” 

“That one would require us--an ex-Jedi and an anti-Imperialist pilot--to be  _ alive _ five standard years from now,” he laughs, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Let alone you tolerating me for that long. Those are some long odds.”

 

Longer than he knows. She's not  _ just  _ anti-Imperial. She's working directly with a Rebel Cell, has been since before Gorse. The Rebellion is what  _ sent _ her to Gorse. But it's a long game, and she's had an excellent run of luck lately. 

 

No telling if the future would actually work out that way, but looking at the long lean streak of sexy, sweet, highly skilled stray standing shirtless in her cabin, it definitely looks to be  _ interesting. _

**Author's Note:**

> Star Wars' overuse of the Dead Mom Trope means I can make Hera's mom be Aayla Secura's MMA Champion Kid Sister if I fucking well want to.


End file.
